Page 35

Chapter 35

First Date

Parker

Brandon and I are going on a date.

The two of us.

Together.

I can’t freaking wait.

I didn’t bring many date-appropriate outfits to Summit, so I splurged my paycheque on a fancy new shirt from a boutique in town. I’ve never been accused of being fashion forward but when I tried it on, I thought Brandon’s gonna like this me in this .

I also maybe thought, Brandon’s gonna like taking this off .

I spend an hour in the shower, and borrow some of Archie’s hair stuff to give my buzzcut a bit of character. I check my fit as I grab my jacket. Not bad , Di Rossi.

Not bad at all .Next to the mirror, my combat gloves hang from the back of my door.

Tonight’s a big deal. Not only is it our first official date, but I’m going to tell Brandon about my future MMA plans. I know he doesn’t like the thought of me fighting, but this is different. It’s not fighting for the sake of it. It’s a career. It’s my dream, and I want to share it with him.

And I need him in my corner.

I grab my keys and open the door, only to find Brandon on the other side. He’s wearing black chinos, with a hint of a white vest peeking out underneath a short-sleeved maroon shirt that accent his nicely toned biceps. “I thought I was picking you up”.

He grins shyly, melting me from the inside out. “I was in the neighbourhood. Damn. You clean up good, Di Rossi”.

“You’re not so shabby yourself”. His hair is extra tousled, swept to the side in a way that basically screams look-at-my cheekbones-now.

Down boy . My dick has noticed too.

The easiest thing in the world would be to pull him inside, rip his clothes off and do the things we don’t talk about. But that’s not what tonight is. Not yet, anyway. “Ready to go?”

We pile into the back of the cab. There’s a brief moment when I feel like I should have opened the door for him. And I can tell from the way he hesitates that he thought the same.I guess we’re just a couple of old-fashioned romantics.

“Did you eat today?” I ask, quietly.

He nods. “And I went easy on training. Promise”. He crosses his heart, releasing the tightness in mine at the same time.

Our driver is under strict instructions not to reveal our destination. Brandon’s warm, hard body presses against mine as he chats away about his day. In the darkness of the taxi, I slide my hand into his and tighten it. Like it’s our perfectly fit secret. “Where are we heading?” Brandon asks. “Or do I have to guess?”

“Firstly, you’re the world’s worst guesser”. His eyes start dancing, like they always do when he’s enjoying being teased. “I’m not sure we have that kind of time”.

“Maybe I just need an incentive”. The motherfucker actually bites his lip.

“What did you have in mind?”

He flattens out my palm. With his index finger, he traces out his answer. K. I. S. S.

“Your terms are… acceptable”, I tell him. “Three guesses”.

“I’ll start with the classics. Dinner and a movie?”

“You insult me”. Back in high school, Brandon and I used to sneak off Thursday afternoon period and hit the mall. The soccer team’s club was nearby, and we’d hang out, waiting for the players to pile out of training and ask them to sign our shirts.

They rarely did. Brandon always said if he ever made it as a soccer player then he’d sign as many shirts as possible. For every kid who asked. And he wasn’t bullshitting either. He might play it cool, but he had a big heart. It was one of the things that drew me into his orbit in the first place.

“Moonlit walk by the sea?”

“We’re inner city, dumbass”.

Then we’d hit the arcade. Not the mainstream one, that everyone else went to. The crummy one, that was shoved onto the side of the local indie cinema. It was always deserted, and the guy who ran it, Ralph, was always cool about giving us free tokens.

We’d laze the afternoon away, blasting zombies or hitting pinballs. And even though we never explicitly said it, we kept it a secret from all our other friends.

It was one of our places. Just ours. I never told anyone. And I don’t need to ask him to know that he never did either.“You’re embarrassing yourself, Carter”, I grin, after he uses his last guess to suggest I’m taking him ‘Glass Blowing’, whatever the hell that is.

The car pulls to a halt by a gas station. “I’ll just be a minute, fellas”. The front door opens and then slams shut, leaving Brandon and I alone.

Brandon’s face is suddenly very close to mine. “I guess you win”, he murmurs. “What’s your prize?”

“Close your eyes”. His lips taste just as soft as they look, but it’s his mega-watt smile when we pull up outside the arcade that sends tingles shooting through my nervous system like goddamn fireworks.

* * * *

The fact that he’s beating me in every game is such a fucking turn on.

It’s also driving me crazy.

I’m finding any excuse to touch him. Hug. High five. Fist bump. Anything to give me the jolt of adrenaline I get when he puts his hands on me.

“I’m sure you used to be better at this”, Brandon leans over the pool table, lining up his shot. I manoeuvre my groin behind the pocket into his eyeline. It’s a risky move. The tension between his shoulder blades seeps through his shirt.

He shakes his head at my tactics, muttering to himself. “I will not lose my concentration”.

“I don’t know what you mean”. The ball rebounds off the side. “Tough luck, Carter”.

“Referee. Unsportsman-like conduct”.

I pot the next two. His eyes burn holes in my chest as I stalk across the table. He slides into my eyeline, and makes a show of stretching. His t-shirt rides up above his belt, exposing his v-line and the waistband of his underwear. I lock eyes with him, and in one deft move, pot the black too.

“Good game”.

He playfully shoves me. We’re like teenagers. If other people weren’t around, I’d grab him and kiss him. “I’ll settle for the moral victory”.

“We’ve got 10 minutes before our reservations. What can we do?” My stomach flips at his suggestive grin. “Get your mind out of the gutter”.

We wander over to the next lane, and each pick up a basketball. It’s one of those race against the clock games where you have thirty seconds to hit as many free throws as possible. “Remember these? I was undefeated at high school".

"I remember the game. I do not recall your fictional undefeated record. These are basketballs, not soccer balls. Hands only. You might be in trouble".

"I thought you knew how good I was with my hands". He smashes the start button, and we start lobbing balls. There’s not a lot of skill involved, but somehow, I’m making more than I miss. I used to play pick-up games at college. A whole damn lifetime ago.

The buzzer sounds. “Congratulations”, Brandon rubs his shoulder ruefully, “You smoked me”.

“What’s wrong? Did you pull something?” I immediately lose the ball. “Come here”.

“Hands off. You’ve only ever cosplayed as a physical therapist”.

“You’re forgetting I live with two of them, neither of who can work anything more complicated than a microwave. It can’t be that hard”. I gently begin to knead his shoulder. His muscle is hard underneath his shirt, and it takes all my willpower not to start stroking his neck. “Better?” I manage.

My answer is a quick kiss on the lips, so tender my knees almost buckle. “Dinner”. I murmur faintly. “We have reservations”.

He casts a look around, before pulling me by the collar into a photobooth. “Then we’ll be late”.

* * * *

The host leads us to our table, a private-looking booth opposite a piano. The style is industrial chic, kind of like the restaurant was dropped in the middle of an old factory. I gotta say, I dig it.

Brandon looks right at home amongst the candlelight and faded brown leather décor. It’s discreet. Nothing to stop me from leaning over and doing whatever the hell I want.

Wait. A paranoid thought occurs to me. What if he thinks that I asked for somewhere private like I was scared people might see us?

I lean over my menu. “I’m gonna ask for a different table”.

“What’s wrong with this one?” He wobbles it. “Seems sturdy enough to me. Unless you had something more adventurous in mind”. He raises a suggestive eyebrow.

“I just don’t want you to think I’m hiding you. Or us”.

“I like it”. Brandon flips open his menu. “You’ve got no idea how many times my parents deployed the goldfish bowl strategy for Friday night dinners”. He shakes his head. “It was their way of proving that we were this perfect little family every time there was a negative story about us. Go out. Be seen”.

“Did you ever tell them how it made you feel?”

“Not after how badly they took The Incident at school”.

I know exactly what incident he’s talking about. We’d been heading out of the school gates when suddenly we were swarmed by reporters. Brandon had fought his way to the schoolbus when one guy grabbed his arm and shoved a newspaper in his face. The front page was a headline exposing his mother’s affair with one of her co-stars.

Brandon’s shell-shocked reaction made the 6 o’clock news.

“I wanted to kill that guy”, I admit, blood pounding in my ears. “I still do”.

“Don’t let me stop you. His name is Richard Crawley”, Brandon takes a swig of his beer. “He’s still writing trash. I guess we’re the gift that keeps giving”. My foot reaches out and strokes his calf. “Damn. Is this doing it for you, Di Rossi?”

“I just like hearing you talk”. Those dimples. “Trauma notwithstanding. I bill by the hour. For therapy ”, I add, catching the mischievous glint in his eye.

“I guess my inexperience is showing. I’m not a big dater. Until recently, anyway”. Just the look he gives me makes my vision go sideways. “I just realised, I’m getting the infamous Parker Di Rossi dating experience first-hand. I finally get to find out whether that graffiti in the girls bathroom was true”.

“What graffiti?”

“I could elaborate”. He shoots a look to where a family of four are being shown to their seats. “Unfortunately, there are children present”.

“Follow up question. Girls bathroom. What were you doing in there?”

“Studying. With Gina Moretti”.

“You never told me!”

“There were lots of things I never told you”, Brandon says softly, and I shiver. Our drinks arrive. “My mom always says ‘clink’ when someone cheers”.

“I’m well aware. Your mom and I frequently enjoy afternoon tea together”.

He laughs at that. “Now that I’d pay to see”.

We settle into easy small talk, chatting about soccer and trading gossip about life at Summit. There should be a rule, I think, that everyone should be friends first before dating. It makes it so much easier.

And hopefully, when I tell him about MMA, he’ll hear me out just like a friend would.

Still, I can’t help thinking about his little bathroom adventure with Gina Moretti. He’s gay, but he was hooking up with girls. It’s not like I have any right to be jealous. No right at all. And yet. Jealous is what I am.

Brandon is in the middle of an anecdote from college involving a prank on a rival mascot, when I spot a group of women eying us from a neighbouring table. I guess they can’t tell we’re on a date.

I say eyeing ‘us’. I mean Brandon .

It’s not hard to see why. He’s so bright and open. The way he gesticulates when making a point. The way his eyes tell half the story whilst his mouth does most of the work. It reminds me of being in high school, how people would gravitate towards him. I’d teased him for it back then.

Now, it made me feel possessive. He told me he’d never had a boyfriend. But what about girls? I’ve known him hook up with Millie. The chick who was straddling him in the Rosebud. Now Gina Moretti. Maybe he’s not as comfortable with himself as I thought he was.

“Have you ever had a girlfriend?” I blurt out.

“Turns out Armadillos are oddly ticklish… sorry, what?”

“You could”. Way to play it cool, Di Rossi. “If you wanted to”.

“I’m not sure if you get how the whole gay thing works. Excuse me”. Brandon flags down a passing waiter, “Do you have a pen and some flipchart paper? I urgently need to draw a diagram for my dinner companion”.

“He’s joking”, I say quickly because nothing would give Brandon greater pleasure than drawing explicit illustrations in a fancy restaurant. I nod towards our neighbours. “I’m sorry. That was a stupid question”.

Brandon leans forward, close enough for me to smell the earthy musk of his aftershave. “Here’s the thing. I’m kind of on a date right now”.

I feel my cheeks burn. “Got it”.

“It’s not serious yet, but it could be”. Has his voice always sounded like it could melt butter? “Probably best I don’t go changing my sexuality in the middle of things. Could get confusing”.A smile tugs at the corner of his mouth, “Where did all this come from?”

“Gina Moretti”. He nods. “Chick from the Rosebud. Millie”.

“I explained about the girl from the Rosebud”.

“You said that you knew I was there”. I take a sip of my beer. He rubs the back of his head, casting long shadows up the wall behind him. “Not the fullest explanation I’ve ever heard”.

“Part of me wanted to provoke some kind of reaction. The other part”, he looks sheepish, “Thought that if you really did hate who you thought I was, that seeing me making out with a girl might make you feel better about talking to me”.

Something crushes me inside. That Brandon felt he had to cover up who he was, just so I’d talk to him. “And with all due respect to your ex-girlfriend, our hook up was encouraged by you. Gina Moretti was a kiss in a bathroom stall at a time when I thought kissing a girl in a bathroom stall might decomplicate my life, because I’d fallen in love with someone I could never have”.

I’m such a moron.

Brandon takes a swig of his beer. “My hetero romantic history all leads back to you”.

Oh. “I’m sorry. I’m a little out of my comfort zone”. I admit. “This is all new for me”.

“Dating a guy?”

“Dating someone I actually like”.

“That part is new for me too”, he whispers back.

Underneath the table, his foot finds mine. And just like that, my heart skips a beat. I’m gonna need a defibrillator if this keeps up. “Normally I’d talk to my best friend about this kind of stuff”.

The thing is, I’m having an awesome time. And that’s kind of freaking me out. I want to do this again. That opens the door to so many other questions. Coming out. Telling my parents. My friends. The guys from the gym. Navigating how to be me when I’m with him.

It must be playing across my face. Brandon stares at me for a moment like he’s weighing something up. “Be right back”. He hops up and disappears towards the bathroom.

A moment later, my cell phone rings.

“Carter?” I glance towards the bathrooms but he’s nowhere in sight. “Where are you?”

“Just chilling at home playing video games. How’s your date going?”

I raise my eyebrows. “Pretty good so far. Though he did just leave me to go the bathroom. Hopefully he’s not jumping out the window”. My voice drops a beat. “Hopefully I didn’t give him a reason to”.

“Intriguing. Sounds like something’s on your mind”. A warm feeling runs through me. “Something that you might want to talk about with your best friend, rather than your date?”

“I’m a little intimidated right now”.

“By his good looks?”

“I didn’t say he was good-looking”.

“It’s heavily implied in your tone”.

I close my eyes, “I just realised how much I like him. And that’s making me say stupid things. Because I’m excited, but a little scared”.

“Of getting hurt?”

“Of not being able to be one hundred per cent myself around him”. There, I said it. “There’s things he doesn’t know. And I don’t want him to run”.

“I thought he told you before he couldn’t do that”.

“I’ve kept a pretty big secret from him”.

“For a long time, he kept a pretty big one from you too”.

“I’ve been training in MMA”. I say in a rush, “And he’s not the biggest fan of my involvement in that world. But it’s part of me. Part of my history and part of my future too. Just like him. I want both. Him, and it”.

Nobody, and I repeat nobody, can make a silence work for him as effectively as Brandon Carter, “Is there a reason why you haven’t shared this with him?”

“I just got him back. Can’t risk losing him again”.

“Give him a chance. Maybe he’ll surprise you. Maybe he’s scared by how much he likes you too. And maybe that’ll mean he’s willing to be…flexible. About things”.

“What makes you so sure?”

“Speaking from experience”, he says softly. “You’re worth bending for”.

“I’ll let you know how it goes. If he ever comes back from the bathroom”. He giggles. “Bran? Thanks. I needed that”. He dials off, and I take a sip of my drink, feeling infinitely better.

“Di Rossi! I didn’t have you down as the candlelit dinner type”.Zara pulls up a chair, balancing a glass of wine and her purse in the same hand. Oh fuck.How much did she hear?

“Just checking the place out”, I explain, noting her eyes landing on the second drink. “With my buddy Brandon”. I allow myself the white lie. “What are you doing here?”

“Date night”.

“I didn’t know you were seeing anyone”, I say in surprise.

“The way things are going, in about an hour, I won’t be”. Zara rolls her eyes. “What can I say? He’s not what you kids would call endgame”.

“We absolutely do not say endgame”.

“We’re heading out to Fighter Fest after dinner. Chase is competing. I’m not cornering him”, she gestures to her wine, “Obviously. But it’d be good for you to see a match in person. Maybe meet some people”.

“I’d love to”, I hesitate. It’s not like I can say I’m on a date.

“Not your buddy’s scene?”

“What’s Fighter Fest?” Brandon reappears, looks from Zara to me and back again.

Zara offers her hand to Brandon. “Good to meet you. I’m Parker’s MMA coach. You’re the soccer star, right?” Brandon nods, “I was just telling Parker about a fight that’s on tonight. You fellas would enjoy it. Chance for Parker to network. Plenty of hot girls”.

Oh, God. “Sounds great”,Brandon says.

“It does?” I blink.

“It does”, Brandon says lightly. “We’re in”.

“I’ll put your names on the list”. Zara disappears. Brandon retakes his seat, with an expectant look on his face.

“I swear to you”, I lean forward, “I did not plan that”.

Brandon signals for the bill. “Guess now’s as good a time as any to see what all the fuss is about”.

“Really?” My heart leaps. “I know it’s not exactly your scene”.

“If it’s your scene, then it’s my scene”, Brandon replies. He casts a quick glance around to check that nobody’s watching and gives me a light kiss. “Besides. It’s only fair. You stepped out of your comfort zone. I can step out of mine”.